Perfection: A Drabble Collection
by Annalore
Summary: A collection of drabbles centered around Dolph Ziggler. Dolph/Punk, Dolph/Cena, and Dolph/Punk/Cena pairings. Slash.
1. One - Five

_Note_: This is sort of, loosely, based on shuffling my iPod and writing drabbles based on the songs that come up. I cheat a lot. This set is centered around Dolph, who I seem to be obsessed with at the moment, but doubt I write very well. Also involves CM Punk and John Cena, both separately and together.

* * *

**1. Rusty Halo - The Script**

I take my title and chuck it into the corner by our bags. I don't watch it fall. There's the heavy thud of leather on metal, the clink of metal on metal. Punk joins me on the bed, wraps his arms around my waist, sinuous, inviting. He kisses my shoulder, my neck, my jaw, his beard rough against my skin.

"You did good, kid," he whispers in my ear. His voice, as always, draws me in, makes me melt.

There's a click, then a beep, as a door is unlocked in the hall. I look, and it's our door. Punk presses his face to my chest so he can't see. John walks into the room and stops as he glances at the corner, at the two gold belts thrown there like so much refuse.

He moves to the bed, lays his hand on Punk's back, leans in and kisses the top of my head. "I'm proud of you," he says, and he wraps his arms around both of us. I swell, and I feel Punk's lips curve into a smile.

**2. You Can't Hurry Love - The Supremes**

I'm sitting out on the loading dock, waiting for the drama to blow over, when Punk comes across me. I'm wary, because we're not exactly friends, but he doesn't look like he's in the mood to try anything.

He sits across from me on a crate, one leg folded underneath him, the other dangling off the floor. "You know, you get no points for telling the truth," he says.

"Does that ever stop you?" I ask him. It's rhetorical, everyone knows about his issues with verbal diarrhea.

"Touche," he murmurs. "But I try not to get so personal. I try not to let them know how to get me where it hurts."

My chest constricts and I wonder if everyone can see through me so easily, or if it's just him. I try to think of a retort, a way to convince him that I'm not everything I accused AJ of being, but the words don't come.

"Don't worry," he says with an easy smile and a shake of his head. "I'm not about to tell." He hops off the crate, but lingers. "And hey, if you're looking for someone to spend some time with... I'm free after the show."

He walks away, his hips swaying provocatively, the expanse of his bare thighs attracting my eyes like a magnet. He throws me a bone, and like always, my world shifts, and starts to reconstruct itself around him.

**3. Kiss Me - Sixpence None The Richer**

Somehow, I end up leaving the bar with John. We're both drunk and we have no car, so we walk through the streets of an unfamiliar city, talking too loud and laughing at nothing. We forget that we're not supposed to like each other, that we don't travel in the same circles.

He stops in the middle of some dark alley to finish telling a story. I lean against the brick wall of a building and watch his wild gestures and stupid facial expressions, and feel something warm and liquid move through me.

In my drunken haze, the moment seems perfect. I push myself off the wall, and stumble awkwardly towards him. He stops talking and puts his hands on my hips to keep me from falling on my face. I stare up at him, and he stares at me. I will him to make the first move.

He presses his lips to mine sloppily, almost hesitantly, as if he knows he has to do it, but isn't sure how. I want to pull him into my arms, teach him how it's done, but I'm paralyzed. Eventually, he laughs nervously and bites his lip, and that reminds both of us of all that isn't funny in the world, and we're walking again, but holding hands while we do it.

When we get back to the hotel, we go our separate ways, and I have to wonder if I will ever be alone with him like this again.

**4. Nickelback - Fight For All The Wrong Reasons**

After six months of traveling with you, I don't even know what I'd do without you. Riding on your bus, warming your bed for you, lying wrapped up in your arms as you slept. Waiting patiently as you went off with him, when he was around, when he had time for you.

Going to your dressing room before the show, getting ready without the prying eyes of people who can't stand me, who are just jealous of everything I've got going for me. Your power and your gold shielding me from Vickie, from Vince, from all the people who have been so down on me my entire career.

Letting you fuck me seven ways from Sunday, letting him watch you do it, because he gets off on it. Falling in love with you, when all I ever wanted to begin with was to be with him. Was to love him. And now I know that neither one of you love me, that I was always just your pet, that I'll always be just your pet.

But why not? You were always good to me. You've taken care of me. That's more than I can say for anyone else.

**5. Nickelback - How You Remind Me**

I lie still on the bed and pretend to be asleep while they argue.

It's always like this when the three of us are together. We have sex, and they're both eager enough. They're usually both inside me by the time the night is done. Sometimes I fuck Punk, sometimes I don't, but John is always on top.

Punk wraps himself around my body like a vice, like he's proving something. John watches to make sure he sleeps, and when he doesn't, there's hell to pay. They go into the bathroom and leave me alone, or worse, they go at it while I'm still there.

John wonders why Punk brings me everywhere with him, and so do I. It's fine when it's just the two of us. I can almost believe that he actually cares about me, that he wants me to be there. Punk wants to know why he's not enough for John, like John made him get involved with me. Sometimes I wonder, but neither one of them will tell me a thing.

The loud whispers stop eventually, and Punk gets back into bed. He spreads my legs, eases himself inside of me without comment. He knows when I'm not asleep, but I don't open my eyes to see where John is. I just let him get himself off inside me, come in his hand.

The bed doesn't dip with John's weight until much later, when Punk is lying asleep against my back and I'm close to it.


	2. Six - Ten

_Notes:_ I would so read a Ziggler/Punk/Cena story too. But unfortunately, I do not seem to be able to write it... The first two of these were written right after the other ones, a week ago Monday, but then I had this paper to write. Plus they were getting way too long. The last three were written just now. I've only seen the opening segment of tonight's Smackdown so far. Not sure if that matters.

* * *

**6. My Own Worst Enemy, Lit**

I wake up in a hotel room with the worst hangover I can remember. For the longest time, I can't remember where I am. I lie in bed, vaguely aware that I should be concerned about what time it is, what my schedule is like, if I should be somewhere.

Someone opens the door and stomps into the room, flicking all the lights on, seemingly as noisily as possible. I cringe at the light, bury my head in my pillow to escape the noise.

"You know, you're lucky," CM Punk says loudly. I just moan and pull the other pillow down over my ears. "I was considering leaving you in an alley to get raped by a stranger."

I try to pretend I can't hear him, that he's not even there, but that's hard when the pillow smells like him.

"For a drunken fuck, you're not half bad," he adds in a bemused tone. "Very pliable."

I toss the pillow aside and glance down at myself, take in my nudity, then look up at him, head throbbing as my eyes try to focus. He's grinning at me. I whimper and let my head sink back into my pillow.

**7. Black Balloon, Goo Goo Dolls**

"It's serious," are the first words out of John's mouth. _Fucking moron_, I think, because I knew the second they carried him out of the ring that it was serious. But I take in his wide-eyed panic, the horror on his face, and I spare a sympathetic thought.

I take a deep breath, try to stem the rising tide of my own panic. "How bad?" I ask breathlessly. God, do I ever not want to hear the answer. John just shakes his head. We stare mutely at each other, bursting with words we'd rather not say.

We both sit, next to each other but in different worlds, wait out the hours restlessly, waiting for someone to tell us something, anything. For him to come out, say it's just a joke, everything's fine. Go somewhere private, and I wouldn't even mind if he kissed John first. God, if he only kissed John.

The let us in finally, and Punk looks small and frail on the bed, eyes bruised with fatigue, mouth drawn tight with pain. His knee is heavily bandaged, but neither of us ask him about it. John stands back and lets me take his hand. As I stand there, studying the ink on his skin so I don't have to look him in the face, I feel tears burning my eyes.

I hear my name, a hoarse whisper in his voice, brittle and pained, but tender, as his hand squeezes mine. Then soft and sad as John wraps his arms around me from behind.

**8. Where My Heart Will Take Me - Theme from Star Trek Enterprise**

Halfway through the day, I walk out into the stadium and just stand on the stage. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to absorb the moment.

"Believe it. It's real," Punk's voice comes from behind me, low and confident.

"You always believed this would happen," I say. A word of thanks or just a statement, I don't know.

"You believed in yourself. You did it yourself." Probably what he told himself too, when he was in this spot last year. Because it's true, even if it's not the whole truth.

He wraps his arms around my waist, and I lean back, tilt my head back for a kiss. I hear the snap of a camera, and I fight the urge to pull away from Punk. He holds me in place as he growls low in his throat. I open my eyes to see John grinning at us, phone in hand.

"Commemorating the moment," he says. I turn around in Punk's arms and kiss him again.

**9. Hey, Jealousy, Gin Blossoms**

I'm woken up by a banging. The door shakes in its frame, and it's probably waking the whole hallway up, but the man in bed with me doesn't even move, despite being awake. Punk is completely zoned, and if he hears the noise, he probably doesn't even know what it is.

Finally, I struggle out of bed, pull on some shorts, and pull the door open. John Cena stumbles in and in his drunken fumbling actually manages to close the door behind him.

"I lost my room," he mumbles, squinting at me as though he's not quite sure who I am. I'm about to ask how the hell you lose a hotel room when he makes a beeline for the bed. Punk has turned his head and is staring at John as though he's watching a character on TV.

I don't know what happened between them, I just know that it was a bad break up. I know that when he can help it, Punk doesn't want John anywhere near him, especially drunk. But I can't stop John from curling up on the bed, or Punk from wrapping himself around John.

And then, the kicker, Punk lifts his head off the pillow, the first sign of life he's shown all night, and murmurs "Come to bed, baby." So I do.

**10. Miss Murder, AFI**

John finds me by the river.

I throw stones into the water. They don't skip, they just sink, but I like to watch them disappear. John doesn't talk, but I know when he puts his hand on my shoulder that it's time to go. There's a show tonight.

They say I have no soul. That I'm just a mindless robot, parroting lines written for me, wrestling the same match night in and night out. I let them do anything they want to my body, but it doesn't make the crowd love me the way it did before. I don't care.

I walk five miles in the rain and John follows me every step of the way. He says, you'll catch your death of cold. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, I'm already dead inside anyway. At the hotel, John dries me off, wraps me in his arms until I stop shivering.

John loves me, but even he can't bring Punk back.


End file.
